


A Much Deserved Peace

by everidite



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Reunions, Romance, Sexual Content, Weisshaupt Fortress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 20:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everidite/pseuds/everidite
Summary: A bittersweet reunion between two lovers that have been apart too long, and an apology that has gone long unsaid.





	A Much Deserved Peace

**Author's Note:**

> _(Recommended listening:[Turning Into Tiny Particles... Floating Through Empty Space](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJ3SWv9pDLo) by **Hammock** )_

It was almost eerie how familiar this situation was to her.

Hawke had been in this position before, many years ago. Her, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed warily on the figure just a few steps away: a white-haired elf, standing next to the fireplace, his back was facing her, deep in his own thoughts.

The fire crackled, the noise filling the somber silence inside the bedchamber. It was already cold in here from the start—Hawke already knew that from the first day she had arrived at the Weisshaupt Fortress, located in the southern Anderfels, where the weather was less forgiving by this time of the year.

And Fenris’ silence did nothing but added to the chill in the air.

At first instinct, she had dreaded that history will repeat itself; that the next moment she blinked he would be nowhere in sight, already packed himself up and ready to leave. But again, Hawke understood that would most certainly not be the case this time.

She knew Fenris well enough. The moment he had surprised her by showing up unannounced at Weisshaupt—despite her request to Varric that she would rather have him stay away and stay safe amidst this troubling circumstances—despite how long the journey took from their current residence to Weisshaupt—that stubborn, undeterred determination of his alone spoke that he was most _certainly_ not about to leave anytime soon.

Fenris had arrived just a few hours before midnight. The moment Hawke saw his face for the first time after _months_ , her first thought had been this spontaneous, overflowing urge to throw herself at him and pull him into a deep, searching kiss. Maker, how she had missed him—how she had yearned for his presence, to hear his voice again—how she had missed having his strong arms wrapped around her body to ensure her that she was now in the safe place, safe with him, away from troubling responsibilities.

But none of that happened. At least, not _yet_ , she hoped.

As carefree as she was, as familiar he was to her, Hawke knew her boundaries. Fenris, for one, was extremely exhausted; it was evident enough from the dark circles under his weary eyes, and his hair had been unkempt; white locks having grown slightly longer than the last time she saw him and drenched with sweat, shoved dismissively away from his face.

But above all, he was _furious_.

The only thing he had said to her had been one word. _Hawke_ , he had said her name. Spoken in a low, gruff voice that concealed nothing but his anger, frustration, exhaustion, although a tiny realization inside her might have recognized a bit of relief under the other mixed emotions.

Fenris had not needed to raise his voice, perhaps being worn out from weeks of travel in the middle of chaos everywhere was one of the most fitting reasons, but the look alone on his face had explained it all, and Hawke didn’t blame him. She knew she deserved no less after taking off in a suicide mission to provide help for the Inquisition on her own, leaving her one and only love in her life behind. What's worse, and she knew exactly this: she had done all of that behindhis back.

Right after Fenris’ arrival, Hawke had let him take a well deserved warm bath first, kindly prepared by the caretaker of the fortress. After he had changed into a fresh tunic, looking a tad bit less worn than before, she had asked him to sit together by the bedside, eye to eye, and told him everything that had happened in a quick explanation.

Fenris had been silent the whole time.

She had told him in her own words about Skyhold, the Inquisitor, meeting Stroud, the battle at Adamant, the Fade, and how the team managed to get back only by Stroud’s sacrifice. He never let go of his eyes upon her, lips pressed into a thin line throughout the entire talk, only broke the contact once Hawke had finished speaking as he pulled himself to his feet and stalked off to the fireplace, still without a word.

A few minutes again had passed, and Hawke couldn’t take the unsettling silence anymore. She needed to hear from him. _Anything_.

He might as well yell at her, berate her, and she would take all of it in full responsibility as she should—rather than having him standing here, so close within reach, yet refusing to talk.

“Fenris,” Hawke called him softly. She watched how his fist clenched at the mention of his name. Her heart pounded faster inside her chest, she could listen to her own heartbeat loudly in her ears. “Say something. Please.”

It took a moment before he finally turned his head at her, and Hawke felt as if someone had punched her in the gut.

Fenris had this stern expression, brows furrowed deep, slightly hidden beneath the wet white bangs of his hair that had darkened from his earlier bath. His green eyes, illuminated by the light from the fireplace, drilled through her skull in a firm stare.

But what most wrenched her heart was not really that, no. She had been at the receiving end of his disapproving scowls before, too many times to count that she could easily wave it off with a snarky wit. No, that wasn’t the problem. It was how beneath all of that anger, she knew exactly what that look meant.

He was looking at her with _disappointment_.

“You left,” Fenris finally spoke, his voice hoarse from his long silence.

The effect was instant. Guilt spread through all over her body that Hawke almost shivered. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You lied to me.”

“I know.”

“You said you would stay behind.”

“I did, yes.”

“Yet you _left_. With only a letter.”

“I know.”

He snorted derisively. “Months without any news. _Months_ , Hawke. And then suddenly a letter came and it wasn’t from you, but from Varric instead.”

“I know.” Hawke let out a tired sigh. “And I’m sorry. I should have written to you personally.”

“Yes, you _should have_.” The tone in his voice had gone a bit sharp now, his glower unfazed. “Imagine it. Imagine how it feels like to be in the dark for months—" he took slow steps towards the bed "—and the next thing I heard about you was that you almost died, in the _Fade_ of all things?”

She winced as Fenris stopped just before her, the shadow of his lanky figure, loomed by the bright fire from the fireplace, was casting over her and onto the bed coverlet.

Her head bowed lower, she couldn’t bear to look at him in the eyes. Deep inside, she knew everything Fenris had said was right. She could hear the anger, fear, and pain in his voice, and _she_  hadcaused all of that, and that feeling did nothing but further fueled her overwhelming guilt.

“You could’ve— _venhedis_ , you could’ve died, Hawke. Have you—” He stopped, and the next thing she heard was a harsh exhale of breath. “ _What_ were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” Hawke whispered, her voice weak at her struggle to keep her composure, which might as well failing anytime soon. “I truly am. You’re right, I should’ve told you right away from the start, and I’m sorry for sneaking behind your back and not sending any word. You deserved none of that.”

She felt him tense without even looking at his face. Fenris went quiet, again, only for a moment, but it might as well felt like a long, excruciatingly painful silence to her.

When he spoke again, his tone was a bit gentler, though it didn’t hide the tension in his voice. “Hawke, I—”

“Please, don’t—I… just let me finish," she cut him off. Inhaling air and exhaling through her mouth, she continued, "I don’t deny everything you’ve said; it was impulsive of me, and selfish maybe, but believe me it wasn’t my intention to hurt you. It never was. If anything, I did all that to protect _you_.”

“Hawke—”

“I know you, Fenris. I know you would do anything to protect me, even if it means diving in headfirst into an army of demons. And I can’t—I can’t have you do that. I won’t. Corypheus is my responsibility, _damn it._  I set him loose at the first place, it should be me who end him, to put things right—”

“Hawke.”

“—you know how did The Nightmare taunt me in the Fade? _Fenris is going to die, just like your family_ , it said, and I thought of everyone I had let down, Bethany, Mother… yes, also Carver, what with the Grey Wardens under influence, and I made him a Grey Warden at the first place.  _I_ did that to him—another poor decision of mine, another loved one to bear the consequences, and now Stroud is dead because of me—”

“Stop.”

“It’s what I do, isn’t it? Dooming others to my failure. A walking catastrophe to every innocent soul out there.” She chuckled darkly. “And then there’s you. I just—I can’t have you slip away because of me, because of another damning mistake I made—the thought itself was—I didn’t want—”

“ _Marian._ ”

That made her stop.

She absently registered a sense of warmth enveloping her cheeks, and how they felt wet. Since when had she started crying?

It took another moment for her to realize that Fenris had knelt on one knee, locking his eyes with her own, both of his hands cupping her face—the warmth she had felt earlier.

“Hawke,” he spoke again, much softer this time. His eyes never left hers. “Hush.”

She blinked, another teardrop fell from her lashes and down to her cheeks. As if in reflex, Fenris gently swiped his thumbs over her skin, wiping off the trail of her tears.

If anything, the tender gesture only made her whimpered against his palms, and the next thing she knew, another teardrop fell down. And another one. And another.

Hawke glanced away, opting to avert her gaze below instead, watching her tears fell onto the flagstone floor, darkening the surface where they landed. “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked, her hands gripping each side of her own arms so hard that her knuckles turned white.

Fenris said nothing, not that she expected any comforting words; he wasn’t the type of man who would say sweet nothings if he hadn’t truly meant it. By then Hawke already knew he wasn't ready to forgive her.

And she understood, even if she couldn't lie to herself that this simple knowledge didn't sting.

But then, she felt his hands moved to the back of her head, fingers buried into her hair, as Fenris gently pulled her to him so that her forehead rested upon his.

His thumbs were brushing against her temples, giving gentle caresses, like what he always did to soothe her every time she was in distress. She gradually went still, her eyes slipped closed, feeling calmer with each caress; and Fenris continued to hold her, no sounds other than his steady breathing, no signs of pulling back anytime soon.

The one man she could ever feel safe with. And she had left him behind, afraid for his own safety if he had followed her to another path of destruction.

Hawke knew she did what was right; she was needed to help the Inquisition, she knew she needed to leave, and she didn’t regret that part at all. What she regretted more than anything at the moment was _the way_ she had left; promising Fenris she would stay, only to disappear the next morning with a short letter, and gone for months without any news. She had deceived him, undeservedly so.

Even with her intention to keep him safe, Hawke knew that was cruel, and she didn’t expect Fenris to forgive her anytime soon. If it was the other side around, she was sure she wouldn’t.

“You are…” Fenris trailed off, and then sighed, his warm breath fanned her face. “You will be the death of me.”

Despite their current state, Hawke couldn’t help but smile at his words. "It lacks the edge of your Tevene cursing.”

He grunted. “I want you to pay attention.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hawke. I’m serious.” Fenris pulled back to get a better look at her face. The new distance between them nearly made Hawke whine as the cool air rushed and hit her skin. “Have you ever thought about the casualties of your actions?”

She had. More often than she would admit. “I always have,” Hawke responded timidly. “That’s why I wanted you to stay behind—”

“I know why,” he cut in before she finished. He dropped his voice the next moment he spoke, “I understand _why_. I only wish you had not lied to me.”

She stared regretfully at him. “I’m sorry.”

Fenris took a deep breath, and wiped one hand across his face. “You know what? Truth to be told, I actually half expected this would happen. You were never the type to stay away from problems.”

“You know me. I’m a walking catastrophe.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he countered back, though a wry smile had formed on his lips. “Though I do acknowledge that I signed up for trouble with my decision to stay with you.”

Hawke chuckled weakly. “Regretting your decision then?”

His green eyes bored into her without hesitancy. "Never.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the quick, firm response. She allowed herself a small smile. “Thank you, Fenris.”

Fenris’ expression softened. Then, he curled his fingers to caress her cheek, and she nearly wept again at his tender touch. “You’re here,” he said solemnly, the relief was present in his tone, “that’s what matters.”

She nodded, reaching up to wrap her own hand around his. “I’m here.”

“I still can’t comprehend how it is you get into madness so often.”

“As I used to say, it’s a gift.”

“And as I used to say, I think you should return it.”

“I’m afraid the Maker has no return policies, so no, I can’t.”

Fenris chuckled at that, and Hawke’s smile only widened at the sight. A few seconds passed before he spoke again, his voice barely a whisper, “Remember the Gallows?”

Hawke blinked, confused. “What brings this up?”

“Remember what I told you back then?”

Her eyes widened at the memory. Oh, how could she ever forget? It was one of the most lovely things Fenris had said to her, and she would always hold it close to her heart, for the words also spoke the truth for herself.

_I can’t bear the thought of living without you._

“I do,” she replied softly. “Always.”

He held her gaze for a while longer, and then exhaled wearily. “I still mean it, Hawke."

Hawke offered him a loving smile. "I know you do."

"Don’t _ever_ do that again.”

“I won’t.”

“Swear it to me, Hawke.”

“I swear to you, Fenris.”

His eyes lingered even after the words had been said. Then, Fenris leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers.

Relief, warmth, and joy exploded in Hawke's  chest at once, as she angled her face to deepen the kiss. It was a gentle, loving kiss at first; from one worried lover to another, from one grateful soulmate to her other half, pouring their affection into one another that they had nurtured together for years and counting.

As time went by, slowly, the kiss grew fierce and heated. Worry turned into relief, relief turned into desire, and desire overcame by hunger. Months being apart had made them crave for each other’s touch, desperate for any form of physical intimacy; and now that the opportunity had presented itself, they finally allowed themselves to let loose inside their passionate embrace.

When Fenris’ markings started to glow under her touch as their kiss intensified, Hawke knew it was only a matter of time before his unrivaled restrain snapped. Her own magic reacted in accordance with his lyrium, leaving sizzling sensation over the course of her body, and making her sighed inadvertently in pure bliss.

Fenris pushed her roughly into the mattress, their lips still connected, their tongues dancing together in a battle for dominance, and Hawke moaned against his mouth when he climbed above her. Everything about him—the noises he made, the urgent touches of his calloused hands, the heat of his body—everything was ecstasy. Too long, she thought, _too long_ she had been denied from this privilege.

He broke the kiss briefly to take off his tunic in one swift movement and threw it without care across the room, helping her removing hers as well in progress, before surging downward to claim her lips again. She circled her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and ran her fingers across the bare skin on his back, trailing the curves and lines of his markings delicately, enjoying the strong muscles under her touch.

Grunting, Fenris brought one hand to grasp her leg and wrapped it around his waist and _pulled_ —pressing their hips together, making both of them groaned at the pleasant contact, as he continued to trail his hand up the inner side of her thigh and further upward.

“Fenris…” she breathed, heart pounding, drawing in shallow breaths when he started to plant wet, open-mouthed kisses alongside her jaw and the crook of her neck, down to her pale shoulder. She missed this, missed him—everything he touched burned, and it felt good, _so good_ , damn it—Fenris had always been good with his mouth and his hands, and he _knew_ how to use them, where to use them, to elicit the most embarrassing sounds she never knew she could make under his ministrations.

Which was why, despite her evident eagerness and the protest inside her head, she used all of her remaining might to stop him, albeit with a little difficulty in finding her voice. “Fenris, wait—stop. Fenris,  _stop_.”

Fenris obliged and pulled away, even though his green eyes, now dark and hooded, were questioning her beneath the strands of his bangs. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice— _one of the most irresistible thing about him_ , Hawke always thought—had gone husky amidst heavy panting. His free hand moved to brush Hawke’s hair away from her face. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head, smiling as she guided one palm from his back to his neck, his jaw, and finally resting flat against his cheekbone. “It’s not that. Look, I know you’re exhausted. You’ve been on the road for, what—three weeks? A month?” She stroke her thumb over the skin under his eye. “Do you even know you have dark circles under your eyes? You need rest.”

“I’ll have my rest,” he growled, and leaned down to drop his head back into her neck, “if you kindly assist me.” With that, he resumed his kisses, now lighter and airier, focusing on one area above her collarbone she realized he was very much familiar with. Without warning he nipped and _sucked_ , causing Hawke to moan loudly against his shoulder; her back involuntarily arched and she reflexively dug her fingernails into his tawny skin, leaving deep crescent marks as a result.

“Damn you— _s_ neaky— _bastard_ …” Hawke laughed, and hissed once he licked the spot. “Fenris, you need to rest.”

“And I shall. Later.”

“How lovely. I almost forgot about you and your stubbornness.”

He snorted, and then murmured over her skin, the humming vibration sending her gooseflesh, “Then let me remind you.”

As if making his point clear, Fenris sucked again, _hard—_ the deliberate action sent a jolt of heat into the pit of her stomach and Hawke swore visciously, writhing under him. His breath felt cool on her damp skin, and when he returned to drag his hot tongue against her, simultaneously working his other hand up between her legs, Hawke was sure her carefully maintained control would break loose sooner or later.

“If you— _sweet_   _Maker_ —if you keep this up, the whole fortress will be awake before we know it.”

Fenris drew back, propping an arm on one side. “Do you truly wish to stop?”

“Well…”

“Tell me, and I shall.”

Hawke stared at him for a long time.

Her gaze traveled from his tousled white hair to his green eyes, to the sharp angle of his strong jaw, the swirling lyrium markings just under his chin, which extended all the way to his neck and torso—the taut muscles rippling each time he drew a breath, and she followed the trail of his markings until they disappeared under the hem of his breeches, just below those _amazingly_ defined lines over his hips—

“Oh, _sod_ it.”

Fenris was still laughing when Hawke practically leaped forward and crushed him onto his back, resuming their earlier activities with a new, fiery passion, altogether getting rid of the rest of their hindering clothings.

And when the time came where their bodies joined as one, they clung to each other tightly, murmuring each other’s names between kisses. There was no need for other spoken words—for every fervent thrust of his hips and her demanding tongue in his mouth shouted their feelings louder than what words could ever manage to accomplish—as they moved to their rhythm, an all too familiar dance they had learned to master throughout the years.

Fenris brought her to the edge that night, his palms hot as they roamed over her body wherever he could reach, lyrium blazing, her own magic flared within her body, weaving through her fingers, a pulsing sensation wherever she came in contact with his skin.

Nearing the end, the rhythm started to fumble and falter, once, twice, then again; and Fenris roughly muttered something in Tevene before he finally let out a loud, rough groan, and bit her shoulder hard in a flailing attempt to muffle his voice. But Hawke was too occupied on her own to notice any pain; blood rushed in a stream to her ears and her hips bucked uncontrollably against him, her head dizzy in heightened pleasure, fingers grasping blindly into his hair and pulling harshly, before burying her face deep into his neck and gasping out loud as she came to her release.

It took quite a while for the two of them to recover, limbs tangling, their bodies lay motionless together, boneless and all too comfortable to move, the only sounds inside the room were their interchanging breaths. And Hawke admitted to herself, as Fenris rolled to his side and lazily wrapped a strong arm around her, dragging her body to rest beside him, that for once since all of this madness began, she felt content.

She was home.

 

* * *

 

“Fenris.”

“Hm.”

Hawke slid her hand across Fenris’ arm that draped over her naked hip to rest on top of his own hand, and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’ve missed you.”

In response, he dragged his arm to pull her body closer under the coverlet, her back flushed against the warmth of his chest, and he moved his head slightly to land a soft kiss on her shoulder. “As have I,” he murmured, his voice rumbled. “Now go to sleep.”

“Mmm.”

A few more moments passed with only soft breaths as the only sounds that filled the dark chamber.

“Fenris.”

She felt a heavy sigh blown into her hair. “Just a moment ago you were so adamant on me getting enough rest.”

Hawke chuckled lightheartedly. “And I still do. This just came to my mind.”

“Fine. Speak.”

“Have I told you that the Inquisitor yelled at me?”

Fenris shifted against her. “ _What_.”

“It’s true. Well, not specifically. It happened at the Fade. I was having this argument with Stroud—may he rest in peace—and the other companions started to voice their own opinions, and no one wanted to back down. So the Inquisitor stepped in and then—”

“Hawke.”

“Hmm?”

“ _Sleep_.”

Hawke grinned at that, and snuggled to press her back closer against Fenris. “Your wish is my command.”

When her eyes had finally slipped closed, she only felt one thing she had not felt for months. Something that she would always be grateful for, altogether with the presence of the man she loved, who loved her in return, holding her protectively in her sleep.

_Together in peace, at last._


End file.
